Le Miserable: Javert
by lesmiszer
Summary: my first attempt at fanfiction. 21-year-old Javert is just beginning his career in the police force during the early stages of the French Revolution and meets someone who may just change his life forever. The story takes place mostly in Paris, 1789-1796 and is an interpretation of how he became the man he was in Victor Hugo's novel.
1. Chapter 1

_Nobody loves you...You're a wretched gypsy…nobody loves you…_

Javert awoke with a start, trembling. He shook his head, trying to clear his head. Blinking his eyes rapidly, he looked around. A couch across the room. A wardrobe on the left. A small table with papers stacked on top of it near the window. Sunlight streamed through the glass and illumined the room.

It was only a nightmare. It was not real.

Javert breathed in deeply, and wiped his moist forehead with the back of his hand. Slowly, he swung his feet over the side of the bed, and stood. He took the pitcher of water from the table, poured into a porcelain bowl, set it down, and began to wash his face. He grabbed the small mirror from his nightstand and peered intently into the reflection.

He could see…them. She was the dark hair, he was the ice-blue eyes, he was the hooked nose, and she was the mouth. He hated it. He only saw himself in the cold expression that dominated the physical features.

Javert slammed the mirror on the table, and hurried his dressing. It was almost nine in the morning, which meant he could be late on his first day at the police station. At age 21, he had finished his degree in law and criminology at the University of Paris, and he was now beginning his first official job. It wasn't much, he was still in the lower ranks of the police force; but at least he could earn something so he could feed himself during this time of poverty.

He promised himself he would not be anywhere near that state anymore, ever since he began working his way to the university.

After Javert slipped on his navy coat and laced his leather shoes, he grabbed a small loaf of bread and had his breakfast on the way down the stairs and into the street. He had no time for leisure anymore. Working in the police force was a new beginning, and he was determined not to let anything that was possibly distracting get in the way of his success.

Shivering in the frigid, February air, he hailed a cabriolet_. _"Rue de St-Christophe, si vous plait," he told the driver. The man nodded, and Javert stepped inside, sat on the velvet seat as the driver snapped the horse into motion. Javert gazed out the window and his thoughts began to run again.

He was unaware of the grimace that had set upon his mouth as he watched the poor on the street go by. They shivered in threadbare jackets, bottom-less shoes, patched skirts, thin hats. Their faces were red with the cold.

"Christ said to feed the hungry!" cried an old man pitifully, shaking a small bowl to any passersby, hoping to gain at least a few sous.

A young man and woman huddled under a make-shift shed with a baby wrapped in wool blankets. They had nothing to keep themselves warm with except for the clothes they wore. They were good for the springtime, but not in the winter.

Javert turned his eyes away from the sight. _No home. Always wandering. Like gypsies._ His heart began to burn with anger again. _I'm not a gypsy._

Sudden shouting interrupted his thoughts. He looked out to see a group of men on the corner of a street, crying, "Down with the king! We must feed ourselves and our children! Down with his wife, Madame Defecit!"

Javert shook his head. He hated anarchists just as much as he hated his past and everything related to it. Things in Paris were becoming stressfull lately. It seemed as though more and more people were going against King Louis XVI and his wife Marie Antoinette. The price of bread had gone extremely high, and many people were starving. Yet, Javert believed the Monarchy should be respected with all their choices. If King Louis was doing whatever he was doing right now, he thought it was best that his decisions were to be trusted. After all, it was his God-given right to rule France.

Now all of that was changing. Javert kept reading in the papers about this man named Maximilien Robespierre. He seemed to be the one in charge of stirring up the people against the monarchy. After reading a few articles in the newpapers about him, Javert had an immediate distrust of the man. He knew that he wanted to make it seem like he was doing something good, appealing to the poor of the third estate, but he knew eventually that he was going to launch a full blown attack on the Monarchy. He hoped that the authorities would immediately stop this man before he could change France for the worse.

The cabriolet came to a stop at Rue-de-St-Christophe, and Javert stepped out, handed the driver 20 sous, and walked down to the police strode inside, standing tall, with his head erect and proud, and made his way to the front desk.

"Bonjour monsieur," the cop greeted him. "And who might you be?"

"M. Javert," he replied with confidence. " I come to do my duty."

* * *

The sherriff assigned Javert to patrol the surrounding area. Thrilled to be beginning his job, he immediately set to work. He was almost hoping that he might catch someone breaking the law so he could have the chance to do his best and impress the sherriff. He had dreams of becoming the most respected officer in Paris.

He strolled the streets, surrounded by peasants. He tried his hardest not to notice them. They reminded him too much of—

"Excusez-moi, monsieur."

He turned around to find a young woman standing timidly before him, shivering. She had taken him by surprise. Her green eyes darted everywhere so they never met his. Locks of her wavy, red hair had come untucked from her knit cap and her cheeks were red. Usually, Javert would not trust someone like her, a peasant and possibly a Jacobin, but she had a sort of sweet and innocent air about her. He relaxed a little bit.

"What is it, madamoiselle?"

She cast her eyes even lower. "M-may I have…fifty sous, please?"

Javert raised an eyebrow. Was she begging?

"Please, monsieur…" her voice trembled. "I have gone without food for almost two days now…and I don't wish to steal…please, monsieur, I'm desperate."

He did not respond as he watched the poor girl shivering before him and was somewhat amazed at her obedience to the law.

_Should I give her some money? What if she's a crook? _

He decided to take a chance fished his coat pockets for any sous or francs he might have left.

"What do you know," he murmured, handing her the money, "exactly 50 sous. Here you are, madamoiselle."

"Oh, merci, monsieur!" she stuffed the coins into the pocket of her apron. "God bless you, merci beaucoup!"

"Just this once, alright?" he said sternly. "Nobody wants to hand out money to just anyone who asks for it."

"Of course, monsieur. I will trouble you no longer. A thousand thanks!"

She gave a little curtsy and left.

Javert watched her as she hurried down the street until she disappeared among the other peasants. Idly he wondered who she was before turning the other way and resuming his duties.


	2. Chapter 2

Javert returned to the police station near five in the afternoon. Renaud, the head officer met him in his office.

"Now how was the first day?" Renaud inquired.

"Uneventful, but it went well," Javert replied. He thought about the red-haired woman who asked for some money, but decided to leave that part out. He did not want the officer to chide him for giving in to a peasant's demands.

"Good." Officer Renaud looked at the wooden clock on the wall. "Well, you have done your duty, monsieur. I'll see you tomorrow."

Javert gave a small bow. "Yes, officer."

He left the station and hailed a cab to take him back to his apartment. The sun was already setting, and the snow was beginning to fall. As he peered through the window of the cabriolet, he thought he saw a young woman walking through the emptying streets. Waves of her red hair hung out of her cap. He tried to get a better look of her face, but the cab went by too fast.

By the time he arrived at his apartment, the streets were already dark and the snow was swirling about. Javert paid the driver, then quietly walked the stairs up to the third floor of the building.

Living there was lonely. All of his friends from the University had traveled to different places to find work. Most of them left Paris because of the economic crisis. They used to go to dinner parties all the time, to the Luxembourg, basically just everywhere, to have fun. Now reality had set in and it was time to become an adult. He could not help but feel a little sadness inside. There was no one to smile and laugh with.

He also had no family. Javert shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thoughts. _I don't need a family. They'r e all probably dead, anyway. _He distracted himself by making dinner.

As he boiled some stew on the stove, he realized that he was close to being poor. Yes, he could afford a roof under his head, but it wasn't much. He ate the same thing every single day and night.

He felt the blood drain from his face at the thought. Fearful tears welled up in his eyes. This was the one thing he worked so hard to avoid. He felt sorry for the poor, he wished their quality of living would improve; but he could not help but feel uneasy around them. They reminded him too much of his past.

Javert rubbed his forehead and forced his mind on other things. _When am I getting paid? Did the officer say in three weeks? Four weeks?_

Mindlessly stirring the stew, he forced himself to dream about the possibilities of being a police officer until the memories of his childhood no longer haunted him for the moment.

* * *

_"Papa, papa!" Javert tugged on his father's shirt. He jumped up and down, trying to see through the barred cell window; the boy was too short. _

_"Papa, they have such colorful masks!" the little five-year-old cried. Music flowed from the outside into the tiny, dingy cell. _

_"It's Mardi Gras, mon fils," the father murmured. _

_"Papa, I want a mask," said Javert. "Can we please go outside?"_

_"Javert, you know we cannot," his mother intervened. She was sitting opposite her husband, holding a two-year-old boy on her lap. _

_"Why?" Javert whined. "We never go outside!"_

_"It's too cold." His father did not look at him. His eyes were fixed intently on the cracked, straw-covered concrete floor. _

_"They're not cold!" the boy felt tears welling up in his eyes. _

_"We do not have warm clothes as they do," the mother said gently, stroking his dark, dirty, matted hair. "We cannot go outside."_

_Javert wrenched away from her touch. "No," he pouted. He turned away from both of his parents so they would not see the tears streaming down his face. "I hate it here."_

Javert blinked from the memory that unintentionally played in his mind. He watched the children chasing each other with green, gold, and violet masks on their faces and the adults laughing as the clergy dragged fish on the ground by strings tied to their waists in the parade. Joyful music played, and everyone was in high spirits. He even wore a gold mask. It was Mardi Gras after all. It was that one day in the year where he felt he was not lonely. Everyone could all be friends with each other that day.

"This is so pointless."

Javert frowned, hearing those words. He strained his ear to listen to more of the conversation. He then heard a woman reply:

"Look at all this extravagance. This can feed the poor for months! Just think, the king and queen pay for this kind of junk to amuse themselves everyday!"

He believed it was half-right. The poor should get more to feed themselves and their children. But he was uncomfortable with the fact that these people were angry at their rulers. _They can't be too bad, _Javert thought.

"I have to go. I hear the bakery on Rue St. Denis is selling bread at a lower price today. A wonder, isn't it?"

All of a sudden, someone tripped right into Javert's side. The crowds were thick. He turned and saw a pair of large green eyes peering back at him through a purple mask. He was somewhat startled by the woman.

"Oh, forgive me monsieur. Excusez-moi." He frowned a little. She seemed familiar. He allowed her to pass.

His eyes widened when he saw the familiar red hair under her cap. Was it the girl...?

He was compelled to follow her through the throng. After about three weeks, it was a wonder that he had seen her again. One could never meet the same person twice in Paris. It seemed to be a reality. But now...

He pushed through the people, trying to never lose sight of her. He was glad when the crowds began to grow thinner as he went farther and farther away from the parade.

All of a sudden, she turned around.

He stopped dead in his tracks, and fear gripped him. What was she going to say?

At first, he could tell she was surprised. "I...I...forgive me," he muttered, "I thought you were someone I knew."

She remained silent. But then, he could see the smile that was beginning to form through the slit of the mask. Javert began to relax a little more.

"Come dine with me," she invited.

And before he could reply, she took his hand and led the way.


	3. Chapter 3

They arrived at the bakery not long after.

"What would you like, mademoiselle?" Javert asked.

"It's alright, monsieur, I have money," she replied. She gazed at him. "Won't you take off your mask?"

Javert felt his cheeks turn red as he reluctantly removed the mask. The young woman gasped.

"Oh, monsieur!" she said in surprise. "I...I remember you! You're...you're the officer-"

She began digging into the pocket of her apron. "I must give you something in return! Let me buy some bread for us."

"Oh no, let me, mademoiselle." He grabbed his wallet, but she grabbed his arm. Javert froze.

"Monsieur, I insist," she said with a kind smile. "Please."

Javert stopped and silently stuffed his wallet back into his coat pocket. How could he refuse a woman?

"Now...what would you like, monsieur?"

He felt himself blush even more. "Anything, it won't matter."

She beamed at him and turned to the baker, asking for a basket of rolls. As he walked off to fetch it, Javert immediately blurted out, "how have you been faring since I gave you those fifty sous?" As soon as the words left his mouth, he began to doubt whether or not he should have asked that.

"I am well, thank you. I found a job working in the local tavern, so I don't have to go without food for days anymore."

He nodded. "Good to hear." _Taverns? Those places are for drunkards and potential law-breakers...well, as long as she's taking care of herself._

The baker returned and handed her the basket of rolls. She handed him the money, then invited him to sit at one of the booths.

"I'm very sorry, mademoiselle, but I don't know your name," said Javert, embarrassed.

"Oh! I am Marie. Marie Trevault." She smiled warmly at him, and patted his hand. "It's alright. And what is your name?"

"I am Javert. Officer Javert." For the first time, he felt some shyness introducing himself with that title.

_Am I being prideful for telling her I'm an officer...? Yes... well, no! What is wrong with you? She's just a woman!_

"M. Javert." She gazed at him with admiring eyes. "I cannot thank you enough for what you did for me. It was only fifty sous, but because of that, you prevented me from hunger that night. I have now found a place to work, so I do not have to ask from people anymore."

He opened his mouth to speak, but she continued. "You are one of the very few who would be so kind and charitable. And for that, I am eternally grateful. To you, it may seem little, but to me, it gave me hope that there are still selfless people out there." She chuckled. "We all know who is selfish nowadays."

Javert was silent for a moment. He decided to ignore her last remark. He cleared his throat. "Um...you are welcome, mademoiselle. I am just glad that you can take care of yourself now."

"As I am."

They spent the next hour chatting about themselves. Javert learned that she was also 21 and recently lost her parents, forcing her to look almost everywhere. He also told her his story of his decision to break away from poverty and working diligently to pay for his education. He left out everything about his family, and hoped she would not ask.

He liked Marie immediately. Even with her poverty, she was full of life and ease. He could not help but smile every time she laughed. Her voice was sweet, and soft; just her overall personality charmed him. He had not been this relaxed in years. No doubt they were friends now. To top it all off...he had to admit she was beautiful.

"Would...would you like to go to the festival booths at the Luxembourg?" he asked, trying to hide the nervousness from his voice.

"Absolutely! I was just about to say the same." Inwardly, Javert breathed a sigh of relief.

They left the bakery and headed for the Luxembourg on foot. The air was chilly, but they hardly noticed; the pair was too busy chatting about anything and everything.

Javert and Marie spent several hours at the park, watching the clowns, listening to the orchestra, and of course, feasting on ham, cheese, and desserts of every kind. They would not be able to revel like this in the next forty days. They laughed and danced, as if all the problems in the country had disappeared. If only...

It was almost midnight, and they knew that the festivities would soon come to an end. Javert felt a pang of disappointment; he did not want this night to end. He offered to pay for Marie's ride back to her apartment.

"As always, you are a gentleman," Marie beamed. "We must meet again soon. Where do you live?"

"I live on the Rue Ludivine, apartment 33, the third floor," he replied.

She surprised him by giving him a hug. He almost did not know what to do, he had never really hugged a woman...but, he reciprocated.

"Thank you for tonight," she said. "Have a good evening."

Marie stepped into the cabriolet and gave one last parting smile to Javert before she rode off. He stood there, still slightly mesmerized.

_I've met a wonderful woman...I can hardly believe this!_

For the first time in his life, he walked all the way home with a smile on his face.


	4. Chapter 4

Since that Mardi Gras, Javert was unable to stop thinking about Marie. She was the first woman he had a genuine interest with. He wanted to know her even more, her likes, dislikes, the church she attended Mass at, her political views. He regretted not asking for her address, and she was the one who knew where he lived. She had not contacted him since then, and it was already three weeks into March. He hoped she was fine.

As he strolled through the streets one early spring morning, he came across a group of people, that seemed to grow larger by the minute. They gathered around a man who was passionately ranting to them. _Something doesn't seem right. _

He went closer to the group and listened to the speaker.

"...we have no representation among these selfish bourgeois!" he cried. "They have chosen to ignore our needs for far too long. The time is now, friends! We cannot sit around anymore and allow them to brush us off to the side!"

The blood in Javert's veins ran cold. He realized this man was a Jacobin, a follower of the anarchist Robespierre. When incited enough, he believed that these radicals could be very violent. _When should I stop this? I may need reinforcements..._

"It is time for us to rise up!" the speaker exclaimed, gesturing wildly with his arm. "It is time for us to stand up to this tyranny! Down with this monarchy! Death to the ancient regime and everything that goes with it! And if need be, may our blood be spilled along with the blood of these oppressors as we fight for our freedom!"

It was the final straw. Javert stepped up to the front of the circle and turned to the crowd. "Alright, alright, be on your way!" he ordered. "Nothing to see here anymore!"

Many of the spectators booed, but began to shuffle away. Javert was about to turn to the speaker when he caught sight of a familiar face peering back at him. Her bright green eyes seemed to bore straight into his. He froze for a split second.

Marie.

Javert cleared his throat, slightly shaken then held up his hand, to indicate her to wait for him. He turned to face the man, whose eyes clearly bore hatred for the cop. Javert gripped his arm.

"I will let you go with one warning," he said, "if you ever incite the people to violence again, you will be detained. Do I make myself clear?"

The man wrenched himself away. "In two months," he spat, "your warning will mean _nothing."_

Javert was taken aback. _Was that a threat? _Immediately, he suppressed his surprise, and kept his cold, merciless mask. "Be careful of what you say," he warned through gritted teeth, "Or you will be arrested."

The stranger hurried off down the street, never looking back. Javert shook his head in disapproval.

_What did he mean, in two months? What was going to happen?_

"Javert?"

He turned and saw Marie waiting. Once again, his harsh demeanor was jolted and apprehensively removed the mask he had put on for the spectators. "I'm sorry about that," he said, slightly stumbling over his words.

Marie smiled, and he began to relax. "No trouble."

"H-how long were you standing there?"

"I was listening to him for a little bit."

Javert frowned inwardly. _She was listening to this rabble-rouser? She may be a Jacobin! Not good, not good at all..._

_Stop it, Javert! The man was indeed causing a scene, who wouldn't be curious? After all, she said she was only listening... I hope she's not a Jacobin._

"So, how are you?" she inquired brightly.

"Bien, merci. And you?"

"Very well. I'm glad the weather's finally warming up."

Javert chuckled nervously, his eyes roaming everywhere but at her. There was an awkward silence between them.

"It's been awhile since we've seen each other," he remarked, "W-would you like to have dinner tonight somewhere? My shift ends in two hours, at five."

"I would love to! Where would like to go?"

"Anywhere, really, it shouldn't matter."

Marie giggled. "Still indecisive?" Javert felt his face redden. She grinned and touched his arm. "I'm teasing. We'll find somewhere to dine."

He smiled at her. "Wonderful."

* * *

After work, they found a small café. After ordering their meal (this time paid by Javert) the conversations began to flow. He was glad she was with him once more. Everything was going well until she asked a simple, yet frightening question.

"What about your parents?"

Javert stopped, and did his best to be composed. He felt head grow hot with anger. "What about them?"

Marie shrugged. "Anything. Do you still live with them, what does your father do-"

"They're gone."

He could see the surprise, then remorse that she expressed. "Oh," Marie said softly. "I-I'm so sorry."

"It's alright," he replied, his voice void of any emotion. He did not continue. It was supposed to send her the message that he didn't want to talk about his parents.

"Do you have any siblings?"

This took him by surprise as well. It took all of his might to keep the tears from springing into his eyes. Javert took a deep breath. "No..."

"Oh. You're just as I am," Marie observed. "Growing up, I was an only child. I was so lonely. I prayed many times for a brother or sister."

Javert was silent. He kept his eyes fixed on his glass of wine, but did not touch it.

"I-is something wrong?" he immediately came to his senses when she asked him the question. He met her eyes, which were now full of concern. He shook his head rapidly.

"Oh...oh not at all," he answered, clearing his throat. "No...I was just a little distracted."

"By what?"

He sighed. "Nothing...it's...it's nothing."

Marie reached across the table and took Javert's hand, peering deeply into his face, her eyes worried and searching for the real reason. "What's the matter?"

The young man looked down at his feet. If this conversation was about anything else, he would have been absolutely delighted that Marie was holding his hand. However he, this wasn't going to go anywhere.

"It's...it's..." he sighed again. He was not ready to be open with another person. Not now. Not this aspect of his past.

"The man this afternoon," Javert murmured. He could not meet her gaze. "I...I cannot stop thinking about what he said."

Marie released a slow breath. _Maybe she's relieved that she might not have caused my emotional distress right now? I have to divert this conversation!_

"What did he say to you again?"

"He said that in two months, my warning will mean nothing," Javert replied. He was beginning to relax again. This seemed like a safe topic of conversation.

"Two months? Hm." Marie's brow furrowed; he could tell she was thinking.

"Is there anything important happening in two months?" he wondered.

"Well...the Estates General are meeting," said Marie. "It's the first time they have done so in almost 200 years."

Javert's eyes widened in realization. "So that is why the Jacobins are being all riled up!"

Marie nodded. "I think this is going to change all of France," she said gravely. "It's about time we in the third estate get our rights."

He frowned. "I do hope the taxes will be lowered," he said slowly, "but I hope they will not threaten violence against our King. They have been given the divine right to rule."

Marie shook her head. "The King does not listen to his people. Can anyone say that he was divinely chosen by God to do what is best for us? I find that hard to believe. All he ever does is spend money on extravagant, useless things, while our whole country continues to dig a deeper hole in debt. I am most certainly anxious for this meeting."

Once again, Javert was speechless. He disagreed with some of the things that were going on in France; but to overthrow the monarchy? It seemed like the beginning of the end.

_So... she really is a Jacobin. And, unfortunately...a beautiful one at that. _


	5. Chapter 5

_"Pierre. Pierre." Javert gently shook his five-year-old brother's shoulder. _

_Eyes fluttering weakly, the boy gave a soft groan. _

_"I could finally afford some bread," Javert whispered. "Here. Eat."_

_He was finally satisfied that he could get something for his little brother. He had lost track of the days they went without food. After spending countless hours sweeping chimneys in the homes of several bourgeoisie, the scrawny eight-year-old was able to purchase just enough for one loaf of bread. There was no doubt it was going to Pierre. With Mama and Papa dead, and the children released from the prison they knew their whole lives, Javert had to become the parent his younger brother needed. Their home was a small, wooden shack beside the bakery._

_Pierre slowly took the loaf with a trembling hand and raised it to his lips. He bit off a morsel. He lowered his head back onto the dirty pillow. _

_"Eat, brother, eat," Javert urged. _

_The little boy shook his head weakly. "I don't want to," he rasped. "It hurts."_

_He handed the loaf back to his elder brother, his protector. Javert pushed it back. "No, Pierre. You have to eat! It's the only way to live!"_

_Pierre closed his eyes. "No...no."_

_Javert continued to urge him with the bread. "Please, please. You have to live!"_

_His pleas could not convince his little brother. As Pierre quickly began to slip away, Javert continued to deny himself of what was happening until he felt too weak to go on. Several minutes after Pierre breathed his last breath, Javert found himself heaving sobs, his hot tears falling onto his brother's stone face. _

* * *

Remembering that conversation he had with Marie two months prior immediately brought back painful memories for Javert. Worse than remembering his parents was remembering his younger brother. He felt like he had failed him, just like his mother and father did. He was supposed to protect Pierre, and do what Mama and Papa did not.

_Sometimes...one can be too weak. _

Once again, he suppressed the thoughts and did what he was always good at: busying himself with other unrelated topics. _Let's see, what is happening today?_

_Well...it's May 15th. Nothing new going on in the station..._

Javert halted. Was it really May 15th?

_Yes. _

He felt the blood drain from his face at the realization. The Estates General would be meeting. The Jacobins, who radically represented the Third Estate (everyone else who was not rich) would most definitely be at the meeting, whether or not the bourgeoisie would allow them or bar them out. Something was about to happen, and it might not be for the good of the monarchy.

Javert made his way out of his apartment, his mood now darkened. Just as he was about to come out into the street, he remembered the words of the Jacobin man:

"_In two months, your warning will mean nothing."_

* * *

The early summer air was full of tension as Javert patrolled the streets. He could hear the people whispering, and he knew it was about the meeting of the Estates General. Once again, his steps were full of uncertainty.

The afternoon rolled by, but there were only rumors. The meeting was still going on, but the Third Estate had been excluded from the main room. What was going on?

Javert was just about to return to the police station when a wave of peasants came hurrying down the street, cheering. He stopped in his tracks and gazed on at the sight. He felt so lost.

"Javert!"

He spun around and found Marie practically shaking with excitement. Naturally, he felt a smile spread over his face. She was the only person who could do this to him.

"Good to see you, Marie."

"Oh, Javert, did you hear?" she grabbed his hands. "The Third Estate-we've broken away from everyone else! We're now the National Assembly! The monarchy can't control us anymore!"

It was like a storm cloud overshadowing the sun. Javert felt the blood drain from his face. "What?"

"Truly, we are on the way to freedom!" she hopped up and down, but even her joy couldn't affect him. "This is wonderful! No more taxes!"

"Wait, wait, hold on!" Javert reluctantly removed his hands from hers. "This can't be good!"

Marie laughed. "Of course it is!"

"No, it's not!" he ran his fingers through his hair, trying to process this news in his mind. "What...what are we doing to the King and Queen? We have no right to disrespect the royalty like this! It's completely throwing away what God has destined for France!"

The young woman sighed sharply. "Javert, the fact that they care nothing for us is proof that our rulers have no divine right to rule. You have to see that!"

"But-"

"Anyway," she interrupted with a wave of her hand, "enough about politics. I haven't seen you in a while! We must have dinner tonight!"

Javert faltered. This woman was baffling. Had she been someone else and less beautiful, he would have dismissed her and went on his way, never looking back on her radical views. He felt himself giving in to her.

"Alright," he relented. "I am just finishing up my shift. Come wait for me at the station."

Marie clapped her hands. "Wonderful!" she began following him down the street. "This has been the best day ever!"

Javert sighed quietly. He wished once again that she wasn't such a radical.

* * *

They had a simple dinner at a Café not too far from the police station. Javert was still upset over the news, but he was doing his best not to show it. Marie was more bubbly than usual, and even though it was over the one thing he disagreed with, her happiness brightened his atmosphere a little more.

The pair chatted over mundane things as usual. There was no talk of politics. Once again, he felt himself relax. Until-

"So, you have said you were an only child?" Marie inquired casually.

The memories came flooding back. All the pain, the grief..._should I avoid this or not?_

Javert took a deep breath. "Actually...my brother died when we were young."

Marie was clearly taken aback. Immediately her shock turned into sympathy. "Oh...I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It's alright," he murmured, now lost in the images of his past. The cell, the streets, the bread...

He began to open up, something he had not done before. Strangely it seemed natural.

"We were living on the streets," he continued flatly. "I cleaned chimneys, but it wasn't enough to buy food for every day."

Marie gazed sympathetically at him while he kept his eyes downcast. He almost jumped from his seat when he felt her reaching out and taking his hand in hers. His skin tingled at the warmth of her touch. Javert cleared his throat to hide any emotion in his words.

"We had gone without food for almost two weeks," he resumed. "We ate scraps but that was all. Finally, I was able to afford one loaf of bread...I...I tried to get him to eat, but...he could not."

A somber silence filled the air between the two of them. Javert felt a mixture of emotions: embarrassment, relief, sadness...he was uncertain on whether or not it was good to disclose this information on someone he was just getting to know. Sure, she seemed kind enough, but was she trustworthy?

"I...I'm so sorry Javert." Her voice was filled with sincerity and genuine sorrow. "I wish I hadn't brought this up. I can only imagine how terrible that must have been!"

He sighed deeply. All of a sudden, his dinner didn't look appetizing anymore. Automatically he folded his napkin and rose to his feet. "I have to go home now, actually," he told her. "I...have some paperwork to finish."

He saw the remorse in Marie's eyes, and felt bad himself, but he did not have the strength to reassure her. She stood up. "Let me walk you home."

He did not protest. They walked out of the café, and began heading to his street. They exchanged few words with each other, although they were nothing deep and thoughtful. Javert tried to busy his mind on other things, like the separation of the Third Estate once again. It bothered him, but not as much as the images of his dying, five year old brother.

_I miss him terribly...desperately. _

They arrived at his apartment complex. When they had stopped just outside the door, Javert was once again shocked as Marie closed the distance between them and enveloped him in her embrace. He felt himself tremble at the contact, but did his best to hide it. Cautiously, he shifted his gaze to meet hers when she pulled back to look up at him.

"I am truly sorry," she said. "Forgive me for being so nosy."

"Don't be."

"I don't want you to feel like that again," she said to him. "I will not talk of such things anymore."

Javert nodded his head slowly. He didn't know what to make of this.

"However...if you ever need to talk to me about anything...I am more than happy to listen."

"Oh...thank you...mademoiselle." He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.

Marie continued to gaze at him, something unknown shining in her green eyes. What was it? Pity? Whatever it was, Javert couldn't look back.

She gave his hand a sympathetic squeeze. "I'll see you again, Monsieur," she said softly. With that, she left, with him watching her as she walked away, her red curls bouncing with every step.

Javert took a deep breath, and realized his heart was racing. He ran his fingers through his dark hair. But even with all that was whirling about in his head, he felt a sense of comfort from Marie's words. It was so foreign to him, to have someone as a confidante, someone who truly cared. None of his friends were like Marie. She was the first person who seemed very genuine.

_This woman is a Jacobin! _He had to remind himself of this fact. Could he really trust someone of such a vicious political party with his deepest secrets?

He was sure of the answer to that question before, a hundred percent. Now...he began to have doubts.

Javert breathed an exasperated sigh. _What is this woman doing to me?_

He turned to the door, but before he could go inside, he felt compelled to say what he said before, even though she was gone.

"Thank you."


	6. Chapter 6

The next several weeks seemed to be like a haze to Javert. From spending time with Marie, to liberal nobles and clergy joining the (now officially proclaimed) National Assembly, Robespierre gaining more popularity and power, he felt as though he was in a strange dream.

Marie continued to baffle him with her charm and her vicious, radical views which contrasted with her warm and bubbly personality. He would find himself clearly amused by her quirkiness, her dimples every time she smiled, her adorable giggles. Only then, in the next moment, he would find her laughing at an offensive, lewd cartoon of the King and Queen and he would have to-somewhat-gently scold her. Oftentimes, she would shoot him a silly comeback. Other times, she would try to start an argument on politics, but Javert never wanted to continue on with them.

His past was never brought up again. She talked of the parents from time to time, but never asked about his own. He was uncomfortable with the fact that deep down inside, he somewhat wished she would. It felt good to release some of the hurt he was bottling up.

* * *

The morning of July 12th, Javert did his usual routine. For him, it was another predictable day. Although, when he stepped out into the streets, he was suspicious to find them almost empty. Where was everyone?

There were no fiacres in sight, so he had to walk to the station. When he arrived at the place, it was deserted as well.

_What is happening? _

He looked around in the offices; the officers were all absent. An ominous silence filled the building.

"Are you looking for everyone?"

Javert spun around in alarm, and found the cleaning man standing in the doorway. "Yes!" he gasped. "Where did they all go? I...I don't understand."

The man chuckled. "Best you stay home," he advised. "Almost everyone's gone to the Bastille prison."

Javert frowned. "The Bastille? Why?"

"They are tearing it down, brick by brick," he replied, his voice now taking on a somber tone. "They are raiding it for the guns and the gunpowder."

The young officer listened in horror as the cleaner continued, "I would've gone, if it were not so bloody. I'm all for the revolution, for Robespierre, but what is occuring at this very moment is too violent for my tastes." He chuckled.

Rage began to boil within Javert's brain. "This is unbelievable!" he cried, slamming his fist into the table. "Has France gone mad?!" he raked his fingers through his hair. "That…that Robespierre—" he began to tremble in fury— "He will dance with the devil one day. And all those with him—" Javert stopped.

_All those with him. The Jacobins. _

_Marie. _

"Oh, monsieur, what is the matter with you? You are—hey, be careful out there!"

Javert was already out the door.

* * *

He hurried through the winding streets of the city on his way to the Bastille. As he did so, he began to shed any signs of his job: his navy, uniform coat, hat, even his badge. These people had no respect for authority whatsoever. If they had seen him, he knew his head would be sliced off, and Javert was certain of that. He knew he could not control such a mob; and in knowing, that, if he couldn't do so with countless people, he wanted to at least try with just one person.

Marie.

The woman—the radical—who had baffled him since the first day they met. It would be almost impossible to find her in a bloodthirsty crowd, but he had to at least have an attempt at it.

_God, I beg you, let me find her. Save her from this monstrosity!_

As he grew closer and closer to the Bastille, the air became thicker with smoke and the smell of blood. He could hear the shouts of the peasants growing louder and louder with each step. He saw more and more people milling about in the streets, frenzied, insane, carrying pitchforks, spattered with blood. At last, when he came upon the prison, the one physical symbol of true, unyielding authority in Paris, he almost fell back from the horror.

Several men and women were at the top of the building, literally wrenching away the blocks of cement and hurling them down into the ground below. Parts of the prison were burning; gunshots were firing into the sky.

And then—they appeared. There were several of them. Heads. Impaled on stakes. They were paraded around by the peasants for all to see. They were the decapitated heads of the prison guards.

Javert wanted nothing more than to run from this nightmare. He hadn't seen anything more vile since…since…

Not even the prison of his childhood compared to this.

"Death to the King! Death to the _ancien régime_!" the mob chanted, pumping the stakes into the air.

He began to grow dizzy at the sight. _Why am I here? Why…_

Javert suddenly remembered Marie. Automatically, he plunged into the crowd, aimlessly searching. He was sure he would never find her, but he continued.

The air was so stifling, almost suffocating him as he elbowed his way through the sea of bodies. It didn't help that it was in the middle of summer. The young man felt himself begin to lose his senses as the mob grew more deafeaning in his ears and pressed tighter into him.

_Marie…I have to save her…_

He pushed against the men and women, frantically looking here and there, hoping to see the sweet, familiar face. It wasn't fair. Such a girl as herself did not belong in this time, this place, this political party. She was damning her own soul.

_And I have to save it. _

All of a sudden, Javert felt something hot and sticky dribble onto his face. With a swipe of his fingers, he quickly realized it was blood. It had leaked out from one of the decapitated heads looming above him. Panic gripped his core. He was going to be lost, lost in this murderous sea. He tried in vain once again to seek her out in the crowd; he searched for the fiery hair. She was nowhere to be seen.

"Marie Trevault!" He called out over the throng. "Marie! Marie Trevault!"

He was lost. And so was she.

* * *

Night had fallen, but the destruction of the Bastille continued. After several hours of searching for Marie, Javert had given up. He left the forsaken place and headed home, absorbed in shock, horror, despair, and contempt for the Jacobins.

_I cannot see her again. Not anymore. Not after this. _

This only added to the pain. How could someone he now called a friend, be such an enemy of the law, the authority, and…God? He knew now that he could not associate himself with her anymore. She seemed so good and pure…why, of all people, did _she _have to be a Jacobin?

It was like adding salt to the wound of his heart.

_I have failed. Again. _

The death of Pierre resurfaced. The memories of the day also began to replay in his mind. Even though he was already far from the place, he could still smell the blood, the smoke, he could still see the heads being paraded. First, his brother died. Now, his friend's soul had been lost.

_You're a failure. You've failed at the two most important things in your life; You'll never achieve anything. After all, you were born from imprisoned gypsies…_

"Javert!"

He raised his head, and for the first time, felt repulsed when he found Marie jogging to keep up with him.

"Javert!" she panted, running in front of him, then stopping to block his way. "What has happened? What did you do?"

"The question is," he growled, "what did _you _do?"

Marie began to stutter. "Wh…what?"

"Stop trying to pretend!" he shouted at her. "You were at the Bastille, weren't you? Weren't you?!"

"Javert!" she cried, slightly cowering from his anger, "please, let's just talk about this in a calm—"

"Calm?!" it took all of his strength to restrain himself from shaking her. "What happened back there was not calm! And you took part in it! I knew you would!"

"I was only there for a little bit!" she insisted, "I didn't—I only—"

"What does it matter? You are contributing to _this_!" he pointed to the dried bloodstain on his face. "This is the blood of the prison guards who tried to defend themselves against those Jacobin hounds! You have contributed to _murder_!"

"But—"

"It matters not who they—and you—have killed. The main thing is, you have murdered. In a court of law, all of you would be tried and executed! What you have done—"

"So arrest me then."

Javert gaped at her in shock and horror. He could not believe this woman. She stood there, not with a defiant demeanor, but with a dismayed one. It was dark, but he could see the genuine regret and hurt in her eyes. He was not aware that she was beginning to break through his fury. There she waited, resigned, and accepting her fate, her head bowed.

He groaned inwardly. _It would have been better if she resisted. _

He looked at her with a blank stare. Slowly and cautiously, she raised her eyes to meet his but quickly averted them again when she saw the expressionless, yet cold demeanor he was exhibiting.

Javert did not know how much time had past, but he finally forced himself to move. He pushed past Marie with long strides.

"J-Javert?" she called out timidly.

He did not respond, nor turn his head. Even though he had the strongest urge to look at Marie one last time, he went on his way, grateful for the shadows that shielded him from her presence.


	7. Chapter 7

"M. Javert, look at this!" Officer Christophe hurried to his desk, shoving some newspaper into his hands. "Look, we are on our way to creating our very own constitution, just like what they did in America!"

Javert frowned as he read the headline: "The Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen. Hmph." He tossed the paper aside.

"No, no, read it," Christophe insisted, "we are really regaining our freedom. It says so!"

Javert sighed and grimaced as he read aloud: "'Yesterday, August the 26th, 1789, The National Assembly formulated the Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen. It is a step towards a constitution, and a new, glorious Republic. The Declaration proclaims the equality of man, regardless of social status...'" He stopped reading and glared at the other officer. "You do know that it also eliminates the rights of the clergy and the nobles? What kind of equality is that?"

"I think they deserve it," said Christophe, "they have had too much power over us for too long."

He looked at his fellow officer in disgust. "You're just like her...them," he immediately corrected himself. Christophe opened his mouth as if to argue, but Javert waved him away. "Leave me. I have work to do."

The man left, and Javert tried to finish some of the paperwork. Instead, his mind was plagued with thoughts of the destruction of the Bastille and, of course...Marie. It had been over a month already. He hated her; yet it despaired him to feel this way.

_Why couldn't I arrest her?...Well, you were off duty by then...No...the Law never rests...You should have arrested her!_

He argued with himself over and over again. When that led to nothing, he began to wonder about what she was doing.

_Probably plotting to kill the King and Queen with other Jacobin dogs..._

He sighed, and could not help but feel an immense sadness over the loss of a friend. Clenching his fists, he cried out in his mind, _God, why did you make her like this?...I should never have been involved with her..._

Javert still remembered her address, surprisingly. _Rue Ludivine, 33, on the third floor. Why should I remember that? I'm not going to pay her a visit or anything..._

_What if I did?_

No. No. He promised himself, not after what happened at the Bastille.

"Javert?"

He looked up to see Renaud standing in the doorway. "Inspector Moreau will not be able to patrol tonight," he said, "will you do it for him? It starts at six, and ends at ten."

"As you wish, officer."

"Merci."

* * *

The streets were almost deserted when Javert stepped out for his extra patrol. Dusk had already settled and there was a peace that he could not experience during the daytime.

He strolled leisurely, while keeping alert at the same time. When he passed the little café where he and Marie had dined before, he did his best not to look at it.

_She only brought me pain. _

And yet, deep down, he longed to see her again. Because of that, he felt a sense of shame. _How can I want to see such a woman again? She was involved in murder...  
_He remembered the look on her face that night. Her sad, resigned words frightened him. Never had he seen someone so...accepting of what could possibly mean the end of their life.

Never had he met someone so...different.

Shouting from nearby interrupted his thoughts and he realized it was coming around a tavern down the street. He saw two figures at the corner, a man and a woman. The man grabbed the woman by the shoulders and pinned her up against the wall.

"Halt!" Javert yelled, "in the name of the law!"

He saw the man turn his head towards his direction, the bolted around the corner. Javert began to chase after him.

"Stay there!" he ordered the woman as he went past her. He was now sprinting after the offender; only to realize that his attempt to catch him had failed. Javert slowed, trying to catch his breath. _Once again, a failure. _

He turned and made his way back to the street corner. "Mademoiselle," he began, "tell me-"

She raised her head, and Javert was stunned when he saw the familiar face in the light of the street lamp.

He swallowed hard, then put on his impassive mask. "Tell me what happened."

Marie frowned. "I'm alright now," she said quietly. "I must be on my way."

"No." He continued to stare at her. "It is my duty to bring justice. Tell me why that man assaulted you."

"He was drunk," she said matter-of-factly. "Now please, monsieur, I must go home."

"Hold on." He took hold of her arm to stop her. He did his best to ignore the strange, unidentifiable sense inside him. "What were you doing here? How often does this happen to you?"

She crossed her arms, and let out a frustrated huff. "I work here, at the tavern," she replied. "And no...this is the only time it's ever happened to me."

"Do you know his name?"

"No."

Javert sighed. "Alright. Can you at least tell me what he looked like?"

"Um...he is about your height," she replied, with a sort of nervous tone. "Short, brown hair...I don't know!" she threw her hands up in exasperation.

"It would help if you would give me more details," he said.

"Well, I wasn't exactly paying attention to his looks when he was trying to attack me!" she retorted.

Javert was surprised at her unusual spite. "Why are you so angry?" he asked, dropping the officer persona for the moment.

"Why are you so interested in catching him? He's already gone."

"Like I said, it is my duty to protect society from people like that."

"Then why didn't you arrest me the night of the Bastille?"

Once again, he was forced to face the elephant in the room. "Because I...I was off-duty." It wasn't an entire lie.

Marie rolled her eyes. "Should the law ever rest?" she said sarcastically.

He ignored her remark. "Is this it?" he asked in a clipped tone. "Are you going home now?"

She straightened her shoulders, and smoothed her apron. "Yes. Good evening, M. Javert."

He didn't know what else to do but watch her walk away into the shadows. All of a sudden, he had the urge to make sure she was going to be safe. Every fiber in his body tried to fight against it. _Don't you remember what she did?! __She's basically an accomplice to murder! _

Eventually, he gave in to the nagging voice in his mind. "Wait," he called out, embarrassed. _I can't believe I'm doing this. _

Marie turned, here eyebrows raised. He walked to her with tentative steps.

"Let me walk you home," he offered.

Marie scoffed. "I thought you never wanted to see me again."

"I just want to get you home safe."

"I think I will be capable of that myself."

"And what if, this time, a band of robbers attack you?"

Marie was silent for a moment. "...Fine."

Neither of them said a word as they began making their way back to her apartment. Once in a while, there would be some sort of noise-a stray dog bounding across the street, barking, men guffawing inside the taverns-that would make Javert turn his attention to. He would be grateful for that, but it was only for a fleeting moment. He did not know what to say to Marie.

He turned his head, and pretended to look into the distance, when he really just tried to steal a glance at her. It frightened him at the realization that he did miss her ever since that terrible night. He could not forget, but-

"So why are you walking home with me?" she asked. "Would it not be better off that I, a Jacobin, be fed to the dogs?"

Javert frowned. "O-Of course not," he stuttered. He glanced at her again, and once more struck by the sweet, dainty face, the fiery hair, and the piercing green eyes.

_She's a criminal. _

"Wh-what exactly did you do...that night?" he inquired apprehensively. _Do I want to know?_

Marie sighed. "To tell you the truth, not a lot," she replied. "I was stuck in the mob for a long time. We waved pitchforks, then we got to tearing down the bricks. Then, I left. I was lost for a while in the streets, and that's when I ran into you."

He nodded his head, and the arguing with his own self resumed.

_Well, at least she didn't murder anybody...Nonsense! That doesn't matter! She still went along with those criminals. _

Javert sighed. "Please, don't do anything like that ever again. What happened during those two days was barbaric. There is no excuse for the murder of the prison guards."

"I...I guess."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You _guess_? You took part in a mob that chopped the guards' heads off and impaled them on stakes to be paraded like trophies! You're guessing that that's immoral?"

Marie held up her hands. "I know, I know, it was wrong!" she cried, "but you should know that what went on in that prison was inhumane. I heard that an innocent man was chained next to a corpse for 11 years. That was exactly the monarchy's purpose for the Bastille: to instill fear among its citizens and keep them in-"

"No, no, no! The prisoners are there for a reason, they are criminals and need to be punished!" he slapped a hand to his forehead in frustration. "You have to stop blaming the monarchy for everything!"

She opened her mouth to argue once more, but then decided against it. "We will never agree on this."

He chuckled dryly. "That's right."

The two of them continued on their way in silence once again. All of a sudden, Marie blurted out:

"Why didn't you arrest me?"

Javert regarded her with annoyance. "I already told you, I was off duty."

"No...I don't believe that."

"You know what? I don't want to talk about this. I've had enough."

There was a long pause between them, and then she piped up, "do you hate me?"

He looked at her, shock clearly evident in his face. "What?"

"Do...do you hate me...because of what I did?"

He stared at her for several moments, unable to process a legitimate answer. _This morning, I hated her._ Now, as he was focusing on her lovely face, he couldn't find it within himself to say yes. Javert tried to remind himself of everything that happened in July, but...

The young man averted his eyes. "No," he muttered.

They finally arrived at her apartment. Marie turned to Javert. "Thank you," she said softly. "You didn't have to walk me home, especially after all of...that."

He gave a little bow of his head. "You're welcome."

"Listen...I know you may still be hesitant about spending time with me, but...if you still need someone to talk to, I'm here." She gazed hopefully up at him. "Alright?"

"Alright."

"Good night, monsieur." Marie began heading up the steps.

"Good night..." he stood there awkwardly. He had no idea how much he had missed her, and now she was being formal. It didn't sit well with him.

"Oh, and Marie?"

She turned around. "Yes?"

"You...you can just call me Javert."

Slowly, a smile spread over her face, and he managed to mirror it slightly for the first time that night. "Good night...Javert."

They parted their ways. As he strolled down the moonlit street he realized a small part of him felt disappointed that he agreed to maintain this...friendship. She was a criminal, he knew that. But for some odd reason he couldn't help but brush that fact aside...for now.

He also knew that the bigger part of him was glad to see her and grateful of the fact that she was still there for him.


	8. Chapter 8

**October 5, 1789: Today, a large crowd made their way to Versailles. It is the women's march, since the people who led the rest were women. The royal family is now on their way back to Paris, and will reside in the Tuileries Palace. **

"Tsk-tsk." Javert grimaced and shoved the newspaper to the side. Every day, it seemed as though things were getting worse now that Maximilien Robespierre and his colleagues had more power in their hands. France was falling apart.

And Marie was taking a part in it.

He shook his head in disappointment. _I wouldn't be surprised if she was in this mob._

Javert sat back, and wondered about her. It had already been over a month since he had last seen her. He sincerely hoped nothing terrible happened to her, like that night near the tavern. He was certainly glad he arrived in time to prevent the worst from happening.

He could not get over the fact that he didn't mind so much about her involvement in the storming of the Bastille. Yes, it was bad, but if she was actually telling the truth (and he had no doubt that she was) her actions weren't so...bad. _So she tore down a few bricks. At least she didn't chop off anybody's head. _

_She also took part in a mob that did just that. _

He groaned out loud, rubbing his hands over his face in exasperation. Javert was exhausted with himself, making excuses and justifying her presence at the Bastille that day. _I have to stop this! _

He decided to make a resolution. _Alright. Just remember she is a part of a group of anarchists, anti-Christian monsters. No more making-_

A knock on the door startled him from his thoughts. He jumped from his seat and stared at the door. Javert never had visitors. _Who would ever visit me? _He was hesitant to see who it was.

A second knocking reminded him it wasn't his imagination. Cautiously, he walked over, turned the knob and slowly opened it.

"Good evening, Javert."

The familiar voice caused him to swing the door wide open. "M-Marie!" he stuttered. "Wh-What are you doing here? I did not expect to see you."

"I know, I'm sorry." He noticed that she seemed to exhibit a sad demeanor. "If it's not convenient, would you like for me to come another time?"

"Oh, I'm not busy at the moment. Come in."

Slowly she stepped into his apartment. She looked around, taking in everything inside. "You have a nice place," she remarked. "You're blessed."

"Thank you." Javert gestured towards the table. "Please sit."

They took their places opposite each other. Once again, Javert could not help but sense her seemingly depressed air. It wasn't like her.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked.

Marie breathed a heavy sigh. "I know I said I would be there and listen to you," she said, "but do you mind if you could listen to me tonight?"

He was slightly taken aback. There was definitely something wrong. "O-Of course not. You can talk to me."

"Thank you." All at once, memories of the night at the Bastille were shoved aside. He was genuinely concerned for her.

"Do you remember that time when I told you that my parents are dead?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Well...this week...out of all the weeks in the year... it's especially difficult." Her voice had softened. This was not the Marie he was used to. "The worst thing is, I'm always alone. There's no one to talk to."

She took a deep breath and went on. "Tonight is the night they...passed away. Two years ago."

Javert gazed at her in a sort of shock. It was obvious that this had been a terrible impact on her...but he couldn't imagine feeling this way about his own parents.  
"Oh," he managed to say. "I...I'm sorry."

Marie blinked a few times, trying to keep the tears down. "They died in a fire," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "I was away, having some fun in the country, testing my new independence. It wasn't until I got back that...I learned of what had occurred while I was gone."

He could not find the words in response to this. He was definitely sorry that she was hurting, but he couldn't express it in the fullest way. Nobody had opened up to him like this, ever. How could she be so trusting of someone who almost arrested her?

"I-It's not your fault, you know," he managed. _It's true._

_"_But if I could've been there-"

"You didn't know it was going to happen," Javert insisted. "They are not angry at you for not being there. You didn't know."

Marie sniffed, and he felt his heart ache at the sight of seeing her cry. "It's not just that," she said, her voice breaking. "I made many stupid choices

while I was away. I drank until my inhibitions were lowered. They would have never approved of my actions. It was not the way I was raised."

Javert was sickened. How could such a sweet young lady such as herself act like a prostitute? All at once, he couldn't bear the thought of someone using Marie so horribly and allowing it herself. What if she was still acting this way? Sins like the ones she was implying were bad habits; he knew they were hard to break. Javert was doing his best to live a chaste life, but he knew what men around him were doing. They were going to the brothels as often as they could, they were unfaithful to their wives continuously, taking mistresses. He couldn't stand thinking that Marie could still be indulging in her sin. Usually, he would think that there was no hope for people like her, but he couldn't bear the thought of her unexpectedly dying the next day and her soul doomed to hell.

"Well…have you gone to a priest for confession?" he asked her.

She wiped her eyes. "Yes…several times." She looked down at her hands. "I just hope I don't have to be put in a situation where I might have to go against God's law. Again."

Pity filled his heart. Javert reached across the table and took her hand. "You must fight it," he insisted, "remember, 'lead us not into temptation.' "

"It's less of a temptation, and more of an obligation." Her words shocked him to the core. Whatever could she mean by that?

"Your obligation is to resist the devil!" he squeezed her hand, in an effort to convince her. "For the sake of your soul, stay away from the sin as far as possible. Once in that whirlpool, it's nearly impossible to escape. We are all born in sin, and only the grace of God can get us out of it."

She nodded her head somberly. "You are right."

Javert sighed. He was greatly saddened about this. Not only had she been with someone once, but she'd been with others many times. Normally, he would be disgusted with this behavior, but when he looked into Marie's eyes, he could clearly see the remorse and regret of her past. He didn't want this for her. No matter what she believed in, with her politics, he knew she was too good for the men who wanted to use her.

"If this is still continuing, I beg you, stop," he pleaded with her.

She nodded her head again, "I have. Do not worry. I have gone to the Sacrament for it."

He breathed a sigh of relief. There was a long pause, as he pondered on what he should say next. This conversation had taken an unexpected turn."You are forgiven then. And if God has forgiven you, your parents would have forgiven you too."

Marie raised her eyes to meet his, and he saw that they were wide with a sort of…hope. He guessed that nobody had ever told her this.

"Think of it this way," he said, "they look down on you from Heaven, and see that you have confessed your sins, and striving never to commit them again. What more could they want?"

She was silent, but he could tell that his words were like sunshine breaking through the storm clouds she had been living under for the past two years. Her face relaxed, and he saw…peace.

_Never in a million years did I think this would happen to me. _

"I…I never thought of it like that," she said softly.

Javert nodded. "You do not deserve to be used like that."

She smiled for the first time that night, and it warmed his heart.

"Thank you, Javert." She gazed kindly at him. "You know, I don't have any friends that I can trust enough with all of this. You are the first to know of everything I told you."

Once again, he was near the loss of words. _How could a woman with such a vibrant person have no friends? The fact that she's a radical doesn't even matter right now._

"To tell you the truth," Javert confessed, "I don't have any friends either."

Marie's smile was bittersweet. "That can't be true. Anyone would be fortunate to have you as their friend."

_If they found out who I really was, they would quickly turn their backs on me. _

Once again came that silence between their conversation. This time, it wasn't awkward. This time, there was a sort of peace that came with it. For once, Javert was happy with that.

After several moments, Marie slowly rose to her feet. "I guess I should be heading home."

Javert stood up with her. "Let me walk with you. Just as a safety precaution."

She smiled, and the two of them headed out.

* * *

Once more, the pair was standing outside Marie's apartment building. She was just about to go in after saying 'good night,' and 'goodbye' when she turned around to face Javert again.

"Oh, and do you know how a large crowd of Parisians marched to Versailles?" she asked. "Guess what—I'm not a part of it!"

Javert chuckled. "That's good. I'm glad."

Marie crossed her arms and stared into the distance, as if remembering something, replaying the images in her mind. "After that night in the Bastille, I went home and thought about what you said. I tried to justify the actions of the crowd, but I thought, you're right. The murder of those guards was definitely barbaric. I think that is why I could hardly stand being there. I…I hate blood, violence, all of that."

Javert nodded. A ray of hope shone in his heart.

"Anyway, it made me re-think my involvement with crowds like that," she admitted. "I'm still a Jacobin, of course—" at this, Javert felt a little disappointment "—but…I'm finished with the violent mobs." Marie chuckled. "I really am not a violent person."

He laughed, and she joined in. "I concur," he said, smiling.

She looked at him in the darkness, with an expression Javert couldn't read. Quietly, she walked over and wrapped her arms around him. Awkwardly, he returned her embrace.

"Thank you again," she breathed.

After a few moments, she gave him a parting smile, and went inside.

Javert stared at her door for several moments, somewhat hoping she would come back out...he didn't know why. Slightly disappointed, he began making his way home.

They were both broken, he realized, although it was different for each person. He hated his parents, she loved and longed for hers. He tried to feel sorry about the fact that her parents were dead, but it was difficult. For Javert, losing his mother and father was more like a relief to him, so he couldn't completely relate with her grief. However, seeing the hurt and regret in her eyes made him feel something he never had felt before. All he wanted to do now was to take away all her pain. He...cared.

And because of that, he was almost...frightened.

Javert had never had such empathy for someone, not since his brother died those many years ago. It made him wary, especially since she was a woman-and one with radical, dangerous views.

He remembered how she embraced him. Nobody had ever done that to him before. Not even his own parents. It was something so foreign to him, yet it made him feel like he mattered in one way other than being the protector of society. Deep down, it comforted him.

The loneliness was waiting for him once he arrived home. He looked at the chair in which she had been sitting just almost an hour ago. Closing his eyes, he couldn't help but picture her there, smiling, and happy. He hadn't noticed until now that his place seemed more homely when she was present.

He opened his eyes, disappointed that he was alone again. Javert wondered why she trusted him enough to tell her this. He was the opposite; he trusted no one. He was a gypsy, and even though she didn't know it, why should she trust him?

_I was born deep in sin, and though I try to live a good life, I can never change that fact. _

He sighed deeply.

_She should just leave my life. We are far too different to even be friends. I cannot give her what she needs. _

And yet... there was that secret hope inside him that she would always be there.


End file.
